


yours to keep

by ghosthunter



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: D/s, M/M, Topping from the Bottom, alex as sugar baby, pk is a goddamn bottom y'all, soft dom pk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-18 22:19:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16127897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghosthunter/pseuds/ghosthunter
Summary: Strictly speaking, Alex doesn’t need anyone to take care of him.He’s an adult, for starters. Fully grown and playing hockey on his own team, with his own place to live and his own fat paycheck that he gets each season that keeps him in all the sneakers he could ever want. No, he doesn’tneed, or, like, require someone else to take care of him.He just likes it, is all.





	yours to keep

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deepbutdazzlingdarkness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deepbutdazzlingdarkness/gifts).



> hbd molly!!!
> 
> ty to maj for the beta!!!

Strictly speaking, Alex doesn’t need anyone to take care of him.

He’s an adult, for starters. Fully grown and playing hockey on his own team, with his own place to live and his own fat paycheck that he gets each season that keeps him in all the sneakers he could ever want. No, he doesn’t _need_ , or, like, require someone else to take care of him.

He just likes it, is all.

So when PK says to him, after practice one day, “I’m gonna take you out,” Alex just shrugs and lets it happen.

He shows up at PK’s place in jeans and a t-shirt, wearing his latest favorite pair of sneakers, and PK clucks his tongue and shakes his head. “Oh no,” he says. “You’re not going out with me looking like that.”

He tugs Alex into his apartment and bullies him into “at least change your shirt, man, that’s awful,” and Alex wants to get surly about it, but under the force of PK’s laugh and PK’s smile, he can’t quite get there. He likes the way it feels when PK runs his hand down the front of the shirt that he puts Alex in, smoothing it down. 

“We should go shopping sometime,” PK tells Alex. “I could make you look so good.”

Alex likes shopping. He doesn’t mind clothes shopping. He loves shoes. He thinks he could love any shopping with PK, actually.

PK takes him somewhere with craft cocktails and small plates and PK says to him, “you’ve got to try this,” and slips something into Alex’s mouth with his own fingers.

Alex’s tongue catches on PK’s thumb and the smile PK gives him then is not PK’s normal smile, and Alex thinks he’s done the right thing, chasing the juice of whatever meat off of PK’s fingertips.

“You’re good,” PK says to him, his voice quiet. Alex smiles back at him.

The vibe changes then, almost like that one action gave PK the license he needed to invade Alex’s space, even more than PK would normally invade someone’s space. A hand on Alex’s lower back moves him out of someone’s way as they stand at the bar, talking and sharing plates and drinks. The hand slides from his back to his hip, holding Alex in PK’s space.

“You wanna come back to mine?” PK asks him, once their plates and glasses are empty. “Have a little dessert?”

Alex may play hockey, but he’s not an idiot, and that’s a euphemism if he’s ever heard one.

PK does actually have ice cream at his apartment, and they stand in PK’s kitchen; Alex leaned back against the counter and PK spoon-feeding him ice cream. Alex knows that it’s obscene, the way he flicks his tongue against the cold metal. He could do it to PK’s cock, and he would, too, if PK would let him.

PK’s gonna let him, and Alex knows it from the moment that PK’s mouth closes over his.

 

That’s just the first time.

He lets PK dress him, take him to weird restaurants. They have a couple of drinks, they go back to PK’s place, and they have sex. Alex calls him Daddy, but never in front of anyone.

“Okay, don’t freak out,” PK says, when he calls Alex after the news breaks that he’s been traded to Nashville. “If you don’t want to keep doing this, we can stop. I won’t be upset.”

“I like you, you know,” Alex says.

“I know, baby,” PK says. “Maybe Nashville has a lot of new places I can take you.”

“I’d like that,” Alex says.

 

Nashville simultaneously has a lot of places they can go, but a lot of places they can’t. Places they could go where they wouldn’t be recognized, but places where someone like PK - black, dressed like he has money, flamboyant - sticks out like a sore thumb and would be remembered, not to mention if he’s got a kid with a Russian accent tagging along with him.

At least PK’s house in Nashville is beautiful, and when he comes to Montreal they’re able to visit their old stomping grounds, where no one either knows or cares who they are or what they’re doing. Alex loves the feel of being in a bar, tucked into PK’s side, PK’s hand spread big and warm across his back.

“Take me back to your place,” PK whispers to him, his lips brushing across Alex’s ear when he leans in. It makes the hair on the back of Alex’s neck stand up.

They take a cab back to Alex’s apartment, PK’s hand resting high on Alex’s thigh in the dark. They talk about nothing, aimless chatter about Montreal and Nashville and hockey and what their lives are like, separate from each other. Alex watches the way the lights from the street illuminate PK’s face, flashing him glimpses of PK’s face lit up in blue and red.

“Take your clothes off and come to bed,” PK tells him, once the door of Alex’s apartment clicks shut behind them and Alex flips the lock. All Alex can do then is let out a shivery sigh.

PK smiles and pushes Alex down the hallway, toward the bedroom, tugging Alex’s shirt loose from his pants as they go. Alex strips down, taking the time to put his sneakers away. It always makes PK smile, and Alex steps out of his closet to find PK sitting on the edge of Alex’s bed, waiting, grinning.

“Hands down, no touching,” PK tells him, once Alex is stretched out naked on the bed. Alex digs his fingertips into the bedspread, because this has happened before.

He’s not allowed to touch PK, or himself. He has to lie there and watch, unable to do anything to help or to pleasure while he watches PK open himself up, while his own cock aches for friction or any kind of touch.

“You’re so good, baby,” PK tells him, straddling Alex’s hips. Alex can feel the lube smearing across his dick as PK slots against him, not taking Alex in, not yet. “You’re so good to me, letting me do whatever I want.”

“Please,” Alex says, his voice barely more than a hoarse whisper, his fingers white with his grip on his blankets. The slide of his cock against PK’s ass isn’t enough. “Daddy.”

PK grins at him, cocky, the way he always is, leans down and crushes his mouth to Alex’s. Alex’s hands flex against the blanket, but he can’t grab on, can’t slide his hands over PK’s skin, run his hands over PK’s hair. 

He can’t touch - he’s not allowed.

Instead of giving Alex what he knows he wants, PK keeps kissing him, letting Alex tug his lower lip between his teeth, nipping gently. When PK finally pulls back and sits up, he kneels higher onto his knees. Alex watches PK’s cock, hard and ready, bobbing above Alex’s stomach and his mouth waters, just - he wants. Anything PK will give him.

PK leans back, guides Alex’s cock in, lowers himself down, head tipped back and eyes closed. Alex’s eyes fucking roll back at the feel of PK tight around him and Alex is still, letting PK use his body, letting PK set his own pace, get himself off.

PK jerks himself off onto Alex’s stomach and chest, riding Alex until they’ve both come.

It’s PK that cleans them both up, after a while, his legs a bit wobbly. He tumbles back in bed with Alex and twines their legs together, pulling Alex in close and tucking Alex’s head in under his chin.

Alex sighs and closes his eyes and falls asleep with PK’s fingers stroking over the fine hair where Alex buzzed his hair off at the beginning of the season.

 

Alex is at the airport when the call comes that he’s been traded.

Just because it’s something he’s wanted for years doesn’t mean that he doesn’t end up sitting on a bench with his head between his knees, his sister’s hand rubbing soothingly up and down his back. A lot of his life is tied up in Montreal. A lot of his misery is tied up in Montreal.

He thinks - PK has been so much happier, since he was traded to Nashville. And Arizona, well, it’s in the same conference, so they’ll play each other more times per year, which means more opportunities to see each other with less pressure to make sure no one sees them together in the wrong place.

Alex needs to call PK. He doesn’t know what time it is - is PK still in Nashville? Is he in Vegas? Alex can’t remember and he can’t think through calculating time zones. Instead, he texts PK, tells him to call.

PK calls him almost immediately. Alex hasn’t even moved from his bench. He might be late for his flight at this point, but since Anna doesn’t seem concerned, he’s not going to worry about it.

“You’re out,” PK says, almost breathless. “It’s gonna be so much better, baby, you have no idea. You’re gonna fucking thrive.”

“I love you,” is all Alex can think to say. There’s a brief moment of silence, then PK laughs, delighted.

“I love you, too, baby,” he says. “Of course I do. I’ll talk to you when you’ve had some time to process.”

“Okay,” Alex says, then takes a deep breath. “Okay. Love you.”

“Take care of yourself,” PK tells him.

 

Arizona is hot. It’s somehow hotter than Alex expected, even though he’s arriving straight from Miami to look at the house that his realtor’s picked out for him. It’s hectic, a whirlwind of paperwork and a photoshoot and making a decision that yes, this will be where I live, please ship all of my things here. 

Then he gets back on a plane and leaves.

Nashville is hot, too, and the humidity closes around him like a fist, sweat breaking out on his skin immediately after he steps off the plane. He texts PK, asking if he’s home, and doesn’t wait for an answer before getting a ride to PK’s place.

If PK’s not home, then he’s going to come home to find Alex in his bed.

He is home, however, and he tells Alex that he’s just gotten back from his workout, and they can talk on the phone if Alex wants. 

Alex tells him to answer the front door, and stumbles into his arms when he does. PK is still in his sweaty gym clothes, and Alex doesn’t care, just buries his face into PK’s shoulder.

“Let me get a shower, and I’ll take you out to celebrate,” PK tells him.

Alex sighs, and lifts his face up from PK’s shoulder, and nods with a smile.

PK finds Alex fumbling with a steamer when he gets out of the shower, trying to get the wrinkles out of the dress shirt he’s about to put on. PK stops him, pulling the steamer out of Alex’s hands. He’s still wearing his towel around his waist, and he pushes Alex gently away.

“Go put your pants on,” he says. “I’ll finish this.”

Alex comes back with his pants on, and PK is finishing up Alex’s shirt. “Here,” PK says, holding the shirt out. Alex reaches out, then PK pauses, and then turns the shirt to help Alex into it.

His hands smooth the fabric down over Alex’s shoulders, making quick work of the buttons down Alex’s chest. He runs his hands down Alex’s stomach, stopping at the waist of his pants.

“Finish up. I’ll be quick,” PK tells him, and Alex goes to find his shoes and belt.

**Author's Note:**

> on twitter @ notedgoon


End file.
